


They'll find a way into my room

by softgrungeprophet



Category: Venom (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Breaking and Entering, Canonical Character Death, Cemetery, Crying, Emotional Hurt, Emotionally Repressed, Emotions, Food, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I just didn't want to leave her out..., IMO, Love, Memories, Mental Link, There is brief mention of Anne Weying but not enough to tag i don't think, but def not enough to warrant a tag, oh sleeper is also mentioned at the very beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 16:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: Eddie Brock breaks into Flash Thompson's old apartment one last time, just for old time's sake.





	They'll find a way into my room

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry.  
> Title from Mirah's "[Telescope](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVQlaWjeL3Q)."
> 
>  
> 
> Set roughly some time after ASM #800 and First Host (but long before the 2018 Venom run).  
> Some vague references to Toxin with a Vengeance.

It was just empty nest syndrome, that had them both feeling so lost.

Not memories crowding into their shared headspace. Or, yes, memories, but just memories of a few weeks ago, of the tiny black ball of slime they had brought into the world.

**[Eddie.]**

Okay, the tiny black ball of slime the _symbiote_ had brought into the world. With Eddie watching over them both.

Now, off in space or God only knew where.

Now, Eddie, sitting in their apartment, funds dwindling, holding the symbiote's half-formed shape in his arms. The symbiote purred against him, and he ducked his head, pressing a small kiss to the space between its curling eyespots. It rose up to bump against his nose.

He smiled.

**[Sad...]**

Yeah.

Sleeper wasn't dead. Nothing like it. But they had left. And while Eddie and the symbiote always had each other, he still knew, deep in his thoughts, that despite his anti-social nature... he missed the others he had lost. They both did.

"I love you." Barely a whisper.

The symbiote sank into him, spooling threads out along his arm—t-shirt, then leather jacket. Emotions accompanied the ticklish brush of blackness. Reassurance, love, missing. Encouragement to stand—Eddie let his other coax him to his feet with a small, bemused smile. "I'm going, I'm going..." He grabbed his keys on the way out the door.

They didn't exactly have money for flowers, or anything, but they stopped at the cemetery.

Eddie sat at Anne's grave, leaning against the headstone, watching the grass rustle in the breeze. It had been... a decade since she died, probably. He still thought about her, sometimes, but... much less often. Maybe that made him a bad person. But eventually, he had to move on, or risk losing himself to a perpetual tide of resurfacing grief. He couldn't drown in that, on top of everything else.  The fresh hurt, when it first happened, had been bad enough in combination with his subsequent spiral—one of the worst depressions of his life, sick and dying and mourning and trying to recover, but ultimately... failing.

Eddie ran his hands over his face with a shaky sigh.

The symbiote wrapped around his wrists, around his knuckles, forming fingers just to lace them together.

A tiny pulse of guilt reverberated up through his arms.

He held their hands close to his heart.

On the way from one cemetery to another, they stopped to get something to eat.

Eddie only had a few dollars left from his savings, from his brief stint at the Fact Channel, but it was enough to buy a bagel.

[ **Do they have chocolate bagels?** ]

Eddie made a show of frowning thoughtfully at the case, inspecting the various flavors with the utmost intensity. He sighed, and shook his head. "Looks like we'll have to settle for chocolate chip, darling."

The symbiote whined dramatically under his skin, but he could feel plenty of satisfaction underneath.

Untoasted, plain, no schmear, no anything. Just a chocolate chip bagel, in one whole piece, tough and chewy but good quality. Eddie tore pieces off as he walked, alternating between bites for himself, and occasionally bites just for the symbiote—its tongue briefly wrapping around his fingers as it pulled each bagel chunk into its mouth before disappearing back into the lining of his jacket.

It began to rain, somewhere along the way, fat drops here and there. His other formed a hood to cover him, lingering just a moment so it could nuzzle his cheek. He tugged the hood crooked to steal a kiss before the symbiote smoothed itself out into the black lining.

Flash's grave was very clean, very new. White marble. The grass around it much shorter than the others nearby. It had all the things one would expect from a veteran's headstone—

Flash Thompson, Medal of Honor, Cpl., US Army. _Loving Friend and Devoted Hero_. Date of birth, date of death... only 30 years old.

Eddie knelt in front of the headstone. He felt a little silly, with his knees brushing the flowers left by Thompson's friends and family, clearly well-visited months after the fact.

He couldn't even be sure he was welcome, here.

The symbiote spilled out from his elbow. Poked at the small plastic American flag planted in the dirt amongst the bouquets. Someone had left a pinwheel, black and white and glittery. Jammed it into the grass so it stood proud, twirling gently in the rain and the breeze. The symbiote gave it a spin, before reaching out a slim tendril toward the headstone, to caress the engraving of Flash's name.

[ **No Eugene.** ]

Eddie tilted his head. "What?"

[ **Human custom. When one of your own dies, the grave is marked with the full given name. Like Anne.** ] The symbiote spread thin threads of itself to fill up the indentations of each letter, turning them slick and black like inlaid obsidian. [ **Do I misunderstand?** ]

"No, you're right." Eddie reached out, too. To feel the smooth seams where symbiote sank microscopically into marble. "Maybe he didn't want that. I don't know what was in his will. He could have left all his earthly belongings to me and I don't think I'd ever find out." He chuckled.

His other hummed, low and sweet, before withdrawing into his hand. Eddie's fingers ghosted over the empty space left behind. [ **He always hated the name. Eugene.** ]

"Did he?"

Affirmation dripped through their mental link.

"Huh."

Eddie stood.

He shuffled his feet, for a moment. The grave was... a grave. The place to pay respects. But it felt so detached. Even with just "Flash" written across it. Something about the flowers, the other graves in neat rows all around. The manicured lawn. So impersonal. He felt like an intruder in other people's lives. Not like Anne's grave, where he had sat, read to her headstone as if she might hear him from Heaven, even fallen asleep with his head against the cool granite.

He could never do that here.

Not that he'd want to. Eddie _loved_ Anne. Flash—he had just been... an acquaintance.

[ **A friend, Eddie.** ]

Eddie shook his head. "If you say so."

[ **Stubborn.** ]

He huffed. "You must have a type."

[ **Unfortunately. Stubborn, blonde idiots with depression.** ]

"Hey." Eddie bunched the fabric of his hood between his hands, until it drooped and wrapped around his fingers, falling away from his head so that a few raindrops landed in his hair. "I'll have you know I got straight-A's in college."

[ **Yes, Eddie. You are very intelligent. And you are a fool.** ]

He rolled his eyes, but left the cemetery behind.

Somehow...

Somehow they ended up on a bus, with what little spare change he had, just to experience the ride. And somehow, they ended up standing outside of the brick building where Flash Thompson had lived during his stint as Philly's own Agent Venom. Back when Eddie had stalked him, homeless and coping poorly with his traumas. Anger and vengeance and desperation.

The lights were out, the block quiet.

[ **Eddie... Why are we here?** ]

"Old time's sake." He jiggled the window, a little, to see if it would give. No such luck, but of course... He was one half of Venom. So the symbiote slipped its way into the mechanisms of the lock— _click_.

Eddie opened the window and hauled himself over the sill, into the living room.

"When we were... apart..." Eddie shut the window behind him, peering into the darkness. "I used to do this sometimes." He pulled a memory from the back of his mind. A very similar scenario. Himself, scruffier, a little more gaunt, hair scraggly and short. Wearing all the clothes he owned at once, with the nagging of an entirely different symbiote—Toxin, practically a child—pestering him about their task.

Eddie traced his own steps.

[ **Not entirely sure I understand.** ]

They ensured no one was home. Left the lights off, midday sun turning the room a warm golden color.

The furniture was different, the walls much more heavily adorned with band posters and art. But some of it, still the same. The couch, in particular, that worn caramel-colored leather. That hadn't changed. Eddie smiled to himself. The girl must have had a soft spot for nostalgia, herself, if she hadn't replaced that piece of crap.

There was a photograph of Flash and Andi propped up on the bartop of the kitchen window.

He walked quietly, muffled by the rug now covering part of the living room floor. The kitchen looked the same as it had before, though with a slightly different table. Eddie stooped to open the half-height fridge, and looked through the offerings.

[ **You used to eat his food?** ]

Eddie smirked. "Yeah. Break in while he was at work, steal some of his food, move his furniture half an inch to the right."

[ **That was... you?** ]

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "You remember? Weren't you unconscious?"

A brief kick of displeasure, for both of them. And acknowledgment. The vaguest of vague memories, not his own, swimming around him like a half-formed dream, delirious and feverish. Flash knocking his fingers on the side of the coffee table on his way to the couch—a bright pang of pain—followed by a string of curses. The pressing feeling that something was just very slightly off. Hadn't there been one more orange, that morning? Very interior, very much like experiencing it from within the first person, from within his brain. Very strange.

Eddie blinked the images out of his eyes, and grabbed an already-opened can of pineapple from the top shelf. He sniffed it. Seemed fine. Now, what about the freezer... Vanilla ice cream. Perfect. He left that there for the time being, so it wouldn't melt, and began to rummage through the cupboards. At first he found only pots and pans, used to searching the lower cabinets before remembering that the current resident was _not_ a wheelchair user.

He moved his search to higher places.

Fake vanilla extract. Not ideal, but it would do.

And brown sugar, the pale, mild kind sold in little bags. Again, not ideal, but acceptable.

Eddie grabbed a stick of butter from the fridge—at least Andi kept good butter in stock—and began his process, with the symbiote draping over his shoulder to watch him cook.

He melted some butter and sugar... Mixed in the pineapple, and a little bit of vanilla. He stirred carefully, as the fruit glazed and the liquid evaporated.

When the kitchen filled with the smell of cooking pineapple, almost done, the symbiote reached a few tendrils out. It, too, found itself momentarily stumped, remembering the wrong locations for the wrong things. But it found a bowl, and a spoon, and it grabbed the ice cream from the freezer and began to scoop them a _very_ large serving as Eddie concentrated on cooking.

It only took a minute or so more, and once satisfied, Eddie dumped the steaming, glazed pineapple over the ice cream.

They took their bowl out to the living room and sat on the couch to eat.

[ **You and Toxin did this often?** ]

Eddie nodded, with a mouthful of cold ice cream and hot pineapple. He wrinkled his nose at the temperature clash before swallowing and muttering, "Yeah, every week." He laughed, a little incredulous at himself. "I don't know that we would have been able to feed ourselves, otherwise."

[ **Eddie...** ]

He offered the symbiote a spoonful with a smile.

Its eyes widened at the intense sweetness, and it flicked its tongue out for more.

Better not to think too much about those days.

Yes, he'd done some good. Patrolled the streets in the dead of night, keeping an eye on local displaced youth in particular, as well as homeless families and their children. He had ensured their safety, with Toxin's help. But at the same time, he couldn't muster a lot of positive feelings about sleeping on rooftops during the day, just trying to lay low. About all the fury that had boiled through them.

It hadn't been a long time, but it had been... enough. Enough to not just steal Flash Thompson's food, but also to slip into shadows and watch him through his un-curtained windows.

Creepy? Yes.

But he had been fulfilling his promise (threat) to monitor Thompson.

Had realized, gradually, that he did not need to. That Flash Thompson was truly a good man, at his heart, in a way Eddie could never lay claim to.

The day he left for the FBI, he had almost stopped by for one last visit, face-to-face. To say what? Simply to say, "You don't have to worry about us anymore." Cryptic. He had planned to leave Flash with a dark, confident smirk—a promise that, even in their absence, they would always be there, waiting. But also, that he trusted him, in some small way, to take care of himself.

Instead, Eddie had stood outside of the front door for almost an hour, until someone asked him who he was, what he was doing.

Then he had left.

[ **Eddie**.]

"What." He took a bite of ice cream.

[ **You are sad.** ]

He sighed. "Your attachment to him is messing with me."

His other swayed out of his chest like an eel, to affix wide white eyespots on him. [ **Eddie. Are you still jealous?** ]

"You _know_ I'm not."

[ **You miss him.** ]

" _You_ miss him. And it's affecting my thoughts."

The symbiote curled itself loosely around his shoulders with a quiet noise, almost like a cat, but not exactly the same. [ **I have always kept my feelings for Flash separate from our bond, Eddie. You know this.** ] It nuzzled into the space beneath his chin. [ **These feelings are yours and yours alone.** ]

Eddie stared down at his half-melted ice cream.

He would be lying if he said he hadn't... admired Flash.

[ **Would you like to feel what I have felt for him?** ]

Out of curiosity, maybe, or perhaps masochism, Eddie nodded.

A rush of anger, boredom and frustration knocked the wind out of him first.

Rage from suppression.

Loneliness.

Protectiveness, more frustration, more loneliness—Why wouldn't Flash understand? Why couldn't he see?

Concern, hurt, and then gentle washes of confusion and hope.

Love.

Spite, then regret, apologetic intertwining.

Panic and confusion—split between Eddie and Flash, tearing it in two, shrieking.

Betrayal and forgiveness, almost concurrent. Affection.

Determination.

 _No no no no no_ —

Heartbreak.

Eddie shuddered back into his own awareness, fingers clenched tight around his bowl. He pulled in a ragged breath and let it out, as the symbiote receded from his thoughts, to give him space, to nestle up against his beating heart. He set their ice cream on the floor between his feet and cradled his head in his hands as he struggled to maintain his composure.

 _You're a pretty good man, yourself_.

"I should have—" He curled in on himself, pathetic and small and trembling. "Should've said goodbye."

Out in that dimly lit hallway, with his hand poised to knock but never gathering the courage.

[ **Would that make it hurt less?** ]

He shook his head.

He could feel his other shivering inside of him, affected by the strength of his repressed-now-released emotions, mixing with its own carefully compartmentalized bereavement. It leaked back into Eddie's own consciousness, back and forth, a feedback loop of sorrow and regret and love that he could not place anymore. Who felt what? It didn't matter. They were one and the same, two souls in one body, two people united previously in their anger, in their abnormalities, in their love, and now in their sadness.

Venom did not quite fit on the couch, as they cried—the milky semblance of tears oozing out between their clawed fingers as they covered their face.

But they stayed there, on old brown leather, with ice cream melting in the bowl at their feet.

**Author's Note:**

> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ hey  
> You can blame my friend Bea for this.  
> Inspired by a twitter exchange she and I had earlier today:
> 
>  **Me** : [talking about Toxin with a Vengeance] funny: eddie breaks into flash's apartment while flash is at work and steals his food
> 
>  **Bea** : Eddie breaks into whoever moved into Flash's apartment after he died to eat their food, in silence with the lights off
> 
>  **Me** : GOD if he was still in philly that would be.... so funny... it's a ritual, he's grieving his frenemy
> 
>  **Bea** : it's not like he misses him or anything, he's just hungry
> 
> definitely not gay
> 
>  **Me** : definitely not realizing, way too late, oh maybe i kinda admire that guy a lot
> 
>  **Bea** : suddenly realizing, oh, he'll never kiss him
> 
> not that he'd want to, it's just like... huh
> 
>  **Me** : now i'm SAD
> 
>  **Bea** : :3
> 
> I didn't really get to the "realizing they'll never kiss" part but listen, going from enemies to being in love is a long road and eddie brock is a dumbfuck.
> 
> me: i'm gonna write some angst  
> me: but also let me take a break to describe some food
> 
> Personal headcanon: Flash was a pretty good chef overall, with a knack for it in general, but Eddie hates cooking for the most part and is really mostly only good at making drinks like cocoa or tea, and some sweet things, like stewed fruit or cookies or whatever.  
> Flash would have had better brown sugar :P  
> Also my thought when I included the pineapple part was that it might have been something Anne liked a lot but I never got around to mentioning that. But it was in my head when I was writing it.  
>  
> 
> I don't actually know when the fuck Anne died but considering only like _two_ fucking years passed between eddie's initial cancer diagnosis and its resurgence in The Hunger (2003) it MUST have been within those few years so I figure, yeah, he was still mourning her while also like, going through some shit, emotionally and physically.


End file.
